


Girl With One Eye

by ladydanger



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 09:06:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13498882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydanger/pseuds/ladydanger
Summary: Dressing up as a man provided you a form of freedom. You just did not expect someone would notice you.





	Girl With One Eye

You were an expert at hiding in the shadows. Unseen in the puffs of smoke and definitely not noticed in one of the many, unlit corners of this random, rowdy pub in Birmingham. And you liked to keep it that way. It’s been awhile since you dressed up as a man to go out for a drink - a particular hobby of yours, but one within good reason: it was not proper for a woman to drink the night away, not without friends or a chaperone. Much less a shady pub like this, where alcohol flowed like nobody was poor, dolled up whores came and went and a fight or two was not a chance occurrence.

 You reveled in the freedom this disguise provided. Hair tied up and hidden underneath the lowered hat, cigarette smoke clouding your bare face, ridden of make-up and last but not least: the liberty of slouching in the garb that hang loosely around your body, hiding your curves from the world. You were sure that if your mother saw you so improper - if even she would recognise you - she would surely get a heart attack and your high-class society friends would never want to be in your company again. Ah, the freedom of being a _nobody_ \-  some poor bastard drinking his pain away - was truly thrilling and you relished in it. Secretly, that is.

 You sincerely enjoyed observing the way the lower class mingled in this particular pub - it was like everyone was equal here. And oh, how much you longed for being treated as an equal. While being educated since you were a child and now having the privilege of being educated at the university, your family made sure you were the perfect example of a proper lady - all of this to ensure you would marry the richest man in town.

This used to be London, but your father's sudden interest in expanding his business in Birmingham ensured the whole household had to move to this awful, ashened place - your mother's words. At least for an undetermined time. Your father owned properties throughout England and made home wherever his business took him. Since it was the summer holidays at the university, you decided to spend your time with your family in Birmingham and maybe find some different form of freedom there. Going out, dressing up in slacks and pretending to be someone you were not would be the perfect pastime in the weekends, just like old times.

Your curious gaze filtered the room, looking for something interesting to watch. Somewhere at the table in front of you a woman around your age tried to flirt with some drunken man, coyly filling his glass with some liquor, after he took a sip. God, the way she slaved over that man, batting her eyelashes and arranging her arms in such a way her cleavage was spilling out of her tight dress was amusing to you. Who would ever want to lower herself in such a position? And then there were those two man a few meters away, having a fervent discussion about… horses? Horse races? You couldn’t quite make out there conversation - which was a clear sign the alcohol you were consuming must have gotten to your head. You let out a small giggle from your recklessness - you, a posh, so called ‘proper girl’, getting drunk in a crowded, rambunctious pub.

 It was then that your eyes strayed unwillingly to the bar at the far end of the room. Call it a third eye (if you believed in the gipsy stuff) or just that weird, tingly feeling when someone is looking at you - you just _had_ to look.

And your instincts weren’t wrong. A man was looking back at you. Meeting your gaze, unwavering.

 

All the way from across the room. At you.

 

 You couldn’t quite make out his face due to the puffed out smoke from his cigarette - but his eyes were fixed on you. Even you, in your hazy state of mind, could see a strange glitter in his eyes. And your heart stopped.

 

Luckily for you, he did not make a move.

 

He just sat there, on one of the barstools. Watching. A glass of golden liquid in his left hand. A cigarette in his right hand, casually. But that were just flimsy details, and if you could focus on more of them, you would notice his expensive suit. The way his hair was cut in a percurlious way - shaven on the sides, but with a dark, mop of hair on top of it. The relaxed hang of his shoulders, leaning against the bar. The way his cheekbones could cut diamonds. But the thing that rooted you right on the spot - in one of the many, shady corners of this rowdy, random pub in Birmingham, were his eyes.

 

The palest shade of blue.

 

Just watching.

 

And you couldn’t help it. You panicked. Honestly girl, I do not blame you. A stare like that could kill a man and have women swoon before his eyes. And since you were not supposed to be a woman at the moment, you did the only sensible thing you could do: you fled. As the clock ticked twelve, you grabbed your father’s coat as quickly as you could and disappeared into the night.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. I'm back. I know, I really should update my other stories BUT I JUST HAD TO WRITE THIS ONE. I just started watching Peaky Blinders and I can't get over my crush on Tommy Shelby. Let me know what you think. Since I've just started watching the series I know (hope) I will get inspiration to write more.
> 
> On why I haven't updated other stories: I'm struggling with being not as good as other writers here. Just that. Not fishing for compliments here. And a bit of writers block.


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